


Cleansing Rite

by beautywithoutcaution



Category: Loveless
Genre: Masturbation, tailporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-17
Updated: 2010-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-07 08:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautywithoutcaution/pseuds/beautywithoutcaution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I think much of this would not happen, but makes a good thought experiment. The prompt was "Character A getting off on Character B's tail while the tail is no longer attached".</p>
    </blockquote>





	Cleansing Rite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the anonymous kink meme at http://inksheddings.livejournal.com/76402.html](/gifts?recipient=the+anonymous+kink+meme+at+http%3A%2F%2Finksheddings.livejournal.com%2F76402.html).



> I think much of this would not happen, but makes a good thought experiment. The prompt was "Character A getting off on Character B's tail while the tail is no longer attached".

Seimei wouldn't dare get on the train to the district where Soubi lived until 6:45, when he knew that creature would be well on his way to class. Nonetheless he found himself on the train platform early, waiting, watching the sky turn a deeper shade of blue.

Some old stranger sat on the only bench this side of the station. Seimei kept his eyes averted in disgust.

He let the first train rattle by. He could have boarded it and perhaps satisfied the frustration of waiting, but for the unpleasant risk of a meeting with Soubi. There might be questions; there might be looks. If that creature ever found out he was alive, Seimei wanted to be far away. On the other side of the planet, or at least out of phone reception. Or maybe now, if he wasn't, Seimei would just kill him. His usefulness was over as of tonight. Besides, he'd touched too much, he knew too much, to keep on living.

Oh, but tonight. It was still worth it.

On the train, Seimei let his thoughts flit over _tonight_; but right away he grew uncomfortably warm, uncomfortably exposed, his thoughts probably broadcasting to the universe: this boy is excited, interested, vulnerable, wanting; and, known, too _known_, he wanted to fold up and disappear. He must put it away. _Away._ He tried to think about schoolwork instead. Study, review. Dry facts. Information. Integrating functions and new uniforms on _the first day of summer_ and nothing was safe, nothing.

But his train stop was safe. And Seimei escaped the trap box of people, getting out before even taking stock; but it was all right; that fighter wasn't around anywhere.

A little crowd of patrons spilled out of a crowded restaurant. Ugh, more people. He moved on quickly.

It was mostly empty on the streets to that apartment, for which Seimei was grateful. He let himself in with the same old key. That stupid creature hadn't changed the locks even though he knew his place was being watched-- had to know; one thing he'd been good at; his battle radius told all. Seimei wondered whether that creature knew, after all, and expected him to return; or maybe he just didn't care.

Didn't care enough to hide that box, apparently.

Because there it was, right on the dresser: the black satin box. And it was _embroidered with butterflies_, fucking _butterflies_, and then and there Seimei lost the last shred of respect he had for Soubi's taste, because that was _really far too much_. His fist balled up in anger. He would have to change the box later.

But first he had to see inside. Right now. He sat down tentatively on Soubi's bed-- it appalled him to sit there, it disgusted him, but then, it had happened there, too. In a way perhaps it was appropriate after all: if he imagined very hard, he could envision a small form curled on Soubi's bed, and then it was all right; it was something.

He traced his fingertips over the top of the box. ...That _box_. Ritsuka probably didn't even know _why_ butterflies. Ugh. Sweet little Ritsuka. Sweet, pure, beautiful Ritsuka. It was appalling. It couldn't be. Seimei lifted the lid, tentatively, near-doubting it was true.

Red satin, lushly cushioned, brightly setting off the sleek little black tail and velvety ears inside. Just as he'd been told, it was true.

Seimei stroked the back of one ear, tenderly, unusually sad to see them bereft of life and motion. Ritsuka was beautiful without his ears, but the ears were lonely without Ritsuka. He almost regretted it-- but sooner or later, this would have happened; and if Seimei hadn't acted they'd be under the bed of some stupid teenager and that would be the end of it all. Ritsuka wouldn't have thought it was okay to give his ears to Seimei; he'd have known _that_ was pathologically strange. He'd have looked at Seimei with disgust for asking. And that would be far worse than death.

So Seimei had died. So he'd used his slow-acting tools. Soubi, love Ritsuka. (Okay, he hadn't said "Soubi, love Ritsuka outside the school gates while the other kids are still around", but then, that's what you get for giving a stupid creature vague orders.) And now Soubi's hundred thousandth prophecy had come true: "Seimei, I'm part of you." So part of Seimei had loved Ritsuka, had caressed every inch of skin on his body, had lapped up his smooth clean purity once and for all, and if it was the dirtiest part of Seimei that touched him, well, it always worked like that anyway.

And now there were these soft little ears, and this beautiful slick tail, not too long lost, not completely dried up yet, though soon they would be. They were still soft, still pliable. Seimei could imagine, on a lush evening like this in the closed air of Soubi's old apartment, that they were even still slightly warm.

He lifted one of the ears out of the box and brought it to his lips, kissed it gently. They smelled as they always had, like soap and Ritsuka and clean laundry and Ritsuka, oh. They were part of Ritsuka's body.

Seimei took the edge between his lips, and, experimentally, gently, between his teeth, careful not to bite too hard; he remembered nibbling at it playfully when it was alive, but now it would never heal. He had kissed that ear, washed it, played with it, showered it in nuzzles and affection, when it was part of Ritsuka's body. _Part of Ritsuka's body. Part of Ritsuka._ For a moment Seimei played seriously and hard with the idea of eating that little ear. But no, then it would be gone, and he'd never again stroke his lips against it; and that would be unbearable.

He replaced it carefully in the box with its twin. Arranged the little ears, rearranged them. Tilted them inwards and outwards, imitating different expressions they once had shown on Ritsuka's little head.

And he caressed that soft, sleek tail. Took it from the box and placed it on his lap, toyed with the end, curled it in his hand. Seimei had seen it all from Ritsuka's youngest years, all the places his tail got up to, and yet at the end of the day it was always bathed and scrubbed as clean as fresh clear water. And at the end of the day it always smelled like soap and Ritsuka, just like this. Little soft snuggly Ritsuka.

He remembered this tail thumping idly against his legs, his hips, anywhere nearby. Remembered how, many a time, it had wandered innocently between Seimei's legs, stroked the inside of his thighs with its silken soft fur, in his lap or in the bath. Ritsuka hadn't known what he was doing, or hadn't noticed; sometimes asleep, sometimes unaware, he had flicked his tail into places that drove Seimei mad with secret desire. The memory was too much. He unzipped his pants-- _here, on Soubi's bed, covered in Soubi's scent? But Ritsuka had lost his tail here, after all_\-- and pushed them down just far enough to draw the lovely long tail against the skin of his thighs just below his briefs. He gasped at the sheer softness, finer than spun silk threads. So long remembered, so long cherished, so dearly desired.

Seimei no longer cared if it was Soubi's bed or a bathroom floor; Ritsuka's purity would cleanse it and sanctify all taint. He kicked off his pants, squirmed out of his briefs, and lay down on the bed; and then he drew Ritsuka's tail, Ritsuka's sweet soft tail, around the base of his hard, swollen cock.

There were times when Ritsuka would grab Seimei's wrist with his tail, and Seimei imagined it holding his cock so tenderly, coiling the little tail, still so fresh and soft, around his shaft. He pulled it along his skin slowly, letting it spiral and unspiral, and gasped as the tailtip, swinging free, lashed unbidden into his balls, an unexpected soft stroke. Just as if Ritsuka were really controlling it, and had decided, outside of Seimei's grasp, to move of his own will. The sudden sense of _Ritsuka's body, Ritsuka's own movement_ provoked a moan from low in Seimei's throat. Ritsuka's presence, Ritsuka's will, Ritsuka's tail, Ritsuka's movement. Stroking Seimei, lavishing affection and teasing tail-quivers.

He thrust his hips instinctively, imagining Ritsuka above him, Ritsuka tempting and tickling, and touching him, oh, Ritsuka... He would always brush the tip of his tail unconsciously, quickly, against Seimei's crotch, just so. He would draw it slowly, unwittingly, between Seimei's legs and against his balls and cock and up against the tip _just like that_ and Seimei moaned in pleasurable agony and murmured Ritsuka's name again.

Oh Ritsuka, Ritsuka, always unaware, tormenting him so innocently and sweetly, and Seimei couldn't take another moment of the ghostly delicious half-touch; he imagined Ritsuka with purpose, Ritsuka pleasing him, the little tail rubbing feverishly and in earnest now against his cock, droplets coating it, sticky (he'd have to wash it later), soft damp matted fur, like Ritsuka's sweat, Ritsuka's own desire, his sweet innocent unaware cleanliness melting away into Seimei's mouth with imaginary kisses and pooling in his body forever to stay, essence of Ritsuka, perfect, oh Ritsuka, this feeling, Ritsuka Ritsuka ahh... blinding essence of purity washing him clean, blessing and sanctioning the stream that he would normally loathe.

That was, the sticky mess of come that coated his chest and neck and oh Ritsuka's tail would so have to be washed. Seimei had never felt so good; he almost didn't even care about the filth.

He lay there basking in it, not quite willing to move despite the squalor of his surroundings, sweaty, slick with pools of liquid that was rapidly becoming sticky, a disembodied tail tangled around his cock and between his thighs, in Soubi's dirty bed. Because Ritsuka's tail, Ritsuka's ears, had belonged to him: Ritsuka's purity had been his own, had washed him and made him whole and innocent and childlike, and for a moment he could be clean and good just like Ritsuka. Just for now. It would fade, he knew, when he showered off and dressed, when he walked out into the night air as Aoyagi Seimei beloved killer, but for now, for just this moment, he wanted to relax into the utter cleanliness of the spirit that he always longed for and never could scrub down to in the hottest bath.

Suddenly he heard the unmistakable sound of a key in the lock, and Seimei thought, _shit, no, not this early._ Not while he was all good and vulnerable. He dragged over his pants and pulled the knife from his pocket, thinking: _it's all right, now that I've had Ritsuka, Soubi can die anyway._ The door swung open and Seimei was ready with his blade.

The confusion and shock on sweet Ritsuka's face was unbearable to watch. Seimei didn't want to wait for it to turn into disgust.

He turned the blade to the arteries of his own throat and said, "I love you, Ritsuka."


End file.
